


You Had One Job

by Gia279



Series: 5+1 Things [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Laura, Cute, Derek and Stiles live together but are not married, Established Relationship, Fluff, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!, M/M, Well I think it's funny, at some point there is blood but I personally don't think it's a lot, holiday disasters, holiday theme, kinda funny, most of the "older" characters are in passing, turkey turkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Or...The five times Thanksgiving was a disaster and the one time it was disastrously perfect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just so everyone knows, Derek and Stiles are living in sin at the beginning.
> 
> Which is a my goofy way of saying they aren't married though they have a house together.
> 
> Um, Happy Thanksgiving! I hope everyone's day is pleasant, and if not, you can at least enjoy this! <3 
> 
> I have a huge family and Thanksgiving is usually the holiday where we all cram together and try to rip each other's faces off right before we all sit down and eat like civilized humans. After that we play a board game which we will not finish before storming off in a huff and reconvening for sales. I thought I'd write about big families and the disasters they create this year, lol. 
> 
> Thanks [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/pseuds/rebekahdarian) for helping me come up with some of these ideas.

 

**1—Roasted Marshmallows**

Stiles came to regret offering, but it seemed so simple and easy, back in October; it seemed like the most obvious answer. 

“Where are we doing Thanksgiving this year?” Scott asked on October 30th. He was picking up last minute Halloween candy from the store. The pickings were slim. 

“At our house,” Stiles had replied simply. “Since it’s our first year in our new house, we should do Thanksgiving there, as a p—family.” He squeezed Derek’s hand.

Derek smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“Great. It’ll be perfect.” 

Only now Stiles had to host the entire pack, parents included, at his new house and it would be Derek’s first Thanksgiving in a home of his own since the fire. The closer it got to the day, the more Stiles began to stress. 

Stiles wanted everything to be perfect, for Derek, for his sisters, even for Stiles himself. It shouldn't be too hard, really, just cooking and getting food on the table and sitting together to eat it. Thankfully, Scott had volunteered to help with the cooking while everyone else scattered around the house, playing games or watching sports. 

Derek was also helping occasionally, but Stiles knew he wanted to hang out with Laura and Cora so he didn’t bother calling him back when he got distracted. 

“Dude, everything smells so good,” Scott said, inhaling deeply. He leaned over the counter to poke at a dish of cranberry sauce.

“It does. Here, put this on the counter over there for me,” Stiles said, holding out a green bean casserole. “Thanks.” 

Isaac stepped in, looking hesitant. “Do you need any help? I just lost, so…” he put his hands up. “I’m free.”

“Sure, mash the potatoes.” Stiles grabbed the pot off the burner and held it out to him. “Pour the water out first,” he added, because Isaac looked a little confused.

“Okay.” 

Scott held out the potato mashing tool that had come in a care package Mel had made for Stiles and Derek as a house warming gift. 

Isaac looked at it skeptically before he set to work. 

Stiles focused back on the pies and casseroles he was finishing up, resisting the urge to check the turkey for a fifth time in an hour. He knew it wasn’t done, but some weird itch in the back of his mind kept prompting him to check on it, as if it might get up and start dancing. 

“If you keep opening the oven and letting the heat out, it’s never going to finish,” Allison said. “Also, I’ve come to help.” Her mouth twisted. “I went bankrupt in Monopoly and forfeited to Erica.” She looked around. “Anything need chopping or something?”

“Celery for the stuffing,” Stiles said gratefully. “And a couple onions if you finish that.”

“Can I put marshmallows on the sweet potato casserole?” Scott asked, adjusting a bowl so it didn’t fall into the sink.

“Okay. The marshmallows are in the—yes, there. Just remember to keep an eye on it when you heat it up, okay?” 

“Duh.”

The kitchen was in a sort of nice, familiar chaos, so once they found a rhythm, everything started coming together. Stiles stepped aside without stopping the mixer to let Scott get to the oven to toast the marshmallows on top of the sweet potato casserole while Isaac put the thoroughly mashed potatoes into a serving dish and Allison started chopping onions.

Kira came into the kitchen while Scott was setting a timer. “Look at this video, come on, Erica has it on the TV, it’s so _cute._ There’s a kitten-”

“Coming!” Scott gasped. 

Allison raced after them, asking whose kitten it was. 

Stiles bit his lip, glancing toward the turkey, before rolling his eyes at himself and following. The turkey wasn’t going to catch on fire in the thirty seconds it’d take to watch a cat video. 

Everyone was gathered in the living room, board and video games forgotten, to coo at the cat video. An orange kitten was batting around some toys, little fluffy tail flicking before it pounced.

“Laura, I want one,” Cora said, grabbing Laura’s wrist.

Peter scoffed. “We’re _not_ getting a cat,” he muttered, but he was also watching as the kitten played with the tiny mouse toy, so Stiles figured he was just posturing. 

“Scott, aren’t there kittens up for adoption at the clinic?” Laura asked thoughtfully.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Peter demanded. “I live there too!”

“No!” Cora, Laura, Derek, and Scott all shouted at once.

Peter shut-up, probably more due to Laura’s _no_ than anyone else’s. 

“Yeah, there are some. I think we’ve got three girls and a boy left, actually.”

“Oh, look, it fell asleep,” Erica said, slapping at Boyd’s arm. 

That was when the smoke detector went off.

“Scott!” Stiles yelped, running for the kitchen.

Scott got there first and yanked out the casserole, which was covered in flaming, blackened marshmallows. Smoke billowed out of the open oven.

The sprinkler system in the kitchen kicked when the smoke didn’t immediately dissipate. 

“Oh my god! Cover the—no, put it out first!” Stiles ordered.

Scott dropped the casserole in the sink and twisted the faucet, which caused more smoke to blow through the house. 

“Open the doors and windows!” Stiles ordered while he frantically tried to cover the pretty much already-soaked food that had been spread over the counters. 

“Is there a fire?” Derek called as he ran in. He didn’t really stop to listen for an answer; he hooked an arm around Stiles’s waist, grabbed Scott’s arm, and pulled them right out of the kitchen and through the back door. Everyone else was clustered in the backyard. 

“No fire,” Stiles said, wriggling free. “But the _food_ —”

“You’re not going back in there,” Laura said, jumping in front of him. “We’ll just have to wait until the fire department gives us the okay.” 

Stiles shot her a wild-eyed look. “You called the _fire department?_ There’s no fire! There was a casserole and Scott threw it in the sink!” 

“Yeah, but what if? Everyone’ll feel better if you just let them give us the all clear,” Laura said firmly. 

Stiles covered his face and backed off.

The fire department showed up a few minutes later and went in to check everything out. 

Unsurprisingly, while they were making sure nothing was still burning, Stiles’s father came roaring down the street in the cruiser, jumping out almost before it was stopped. 

“Oops,” Laura breathed.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Stiles mumbled, stalking to the fence to explain what’d happened.

John was deeply amused. “Scott set the casserole on fire?”

“The marshmallows, actually,” Scott said with a quick grin. He grimaced when Stiles glared at him. “I’m really sorry—I didn’t realize they’d catch _that_ quickly.”

“Yeah, well, now everything is waterlogged,” Stiles snapped. “I have nothing to feed you jerks.” 

“I’m sure not _everything_ is ruined,” Cora said. “Hey, look…Oh.” She started giggling when one of the fire fighters came out cradling a glass baking dish in his arms. 

“I think this was the source of the fire,” he announced.

Stiles glowered at him. “Great detective skills, sir. We’d already put that out by the time Laura called you.”

He stared at Stiles. “Nothing burned besides this, it seems,” he continued, as if he’d decided to pretend Stiles hadn’t spoken. “But we’re checking to make sure nothing else caught. The paper towels beside the sink were a little charred.” 

Stiles glowered at Scott, who held his hands up.

“I’m sorry!” 

Inside, everything was wet, including most of the food. The pack quickly got out mops and towels while Stiles tried to find anything salvageable in the food. He hadn’t thought to cover anything beyond paper towels over the top and those had been soaked through. 

“Uh, Stiles…” Isaac began hesitantly. 

Stiles closed his eyes. “Yes?”

“I think the turkey was supposed to come out a few minutes ago.”

“How many minutes ago?”

“Your timer stopped about twenty minutes ago.” Isaac cringed. “I’ll turn the oven off.”

He couldn’t look. He just left the room.

While Laura took the turkey out, Stiles rested his head on Derek’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“For what?” Derek asked in surprise. He rubbed his hand up and down Stiles’s back soothingly. 

“This was supposed to be perfect….” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “Next year it will be.” He glowered at Laura. 

She was struggling to cut the turkey.

“If I hear one complaint about that bird being dry, I will make whoever complained eat outside,” he threatened. 

Derek laughed.  
 

 

**2—Third Down**

“It’s going to be fine,” Derek said, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’s shoulder. “I have them all upstairs watching the football games and playing Clue.” 

“Laura, too?” he asked skeptically.

“Laura, too.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’s forehead. “You good?” 

“I’m good. I’m—you can go up there with them, if you want. I’ll just finish this up…” He looked at the list he’d compiled to make his workload easier. “I can get it done.”

Derek shook his head. “No way. I’m gonna help. We can cook together, we do that every Tuesday and Friday night,” he added when Stiles gave him an anxious look.

“You’re right.” Stiles shook his head. “Of course, right. No problem. I just—want to get it right this year.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad last year.”

“The only thing that made it after the sprinklers was the turkey, and pretty much no one ate that.” Stiles pinched his nose. “I might still have some left in the back of the freezer.” 

“Stiles.” Derek cupped his face. “It’s going to be fine. We have no reason to go up there. Laura’s keeping an eye on everyone, there are no cat videos, and we aren’t going leave the room.” 

“Right.” Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. “Right. I’m being stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s important to you, so it’s okay,” Derek added, giving him a quick kiss before he could try to explain. “Alright, what first? I know for a fact you put that turkey in hours before everyone showed up, so that’s taken care of.”

“Um,” Stiles mumbled. He shook his head and blinked a couple of times to focus. “Right. Okay, stuffing, sausage casserole, those rolls Erica and Isaac like, and that salad that Boyd asked for.” He clapped his hands and grabbed his list, which was several pages long. “Okay, here’s the recipes for everything. Whichever one you want to get started on, you can have the recipe.” 

“I know how to make the sausage,” Derek said, but he took the recipe Stiles held out to him. 

“Thanks for your help,” Stiles said. “I should probably chill. I’m sorry.” 

Derek just smiled at him, cutting the sausage out of its package with his claws. 

Upstairs, someone let out a shout of victory, followed by groans of defeat. 

“Are they cheering for different teams?” Stiles asked warily, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I—don’t know. I didn’t know any of them were into sports,” Derek admitted. “I guess they took some bets or something, but I doubt they _really_ care about the outcome.”

“Right.” Stiles started chopping up vegetables for the dish he was working on. He was being overprotective. One incident didn’t mean something bad would happen _every_ time. 

Now that the incident was a year old, Stiles could admit it was pretty funny, the entire pack out in the backyard with three of them damp and dripping waiting on the fire department to tell them that nothing was on fire. 

He’d even had to answer their questions about why they had a sprinkler system in their house—they didn’t ask for further details when he mentioned that one of the Hale kids lived with him—and about why they’d called the fire department when there wasn’t a fire…anymore.

Remembering them carrying out the charred casserole brought a little snicker to Stiles’s lips. He’d probably overreacted. 

Of course, there was nothing _left_ to eat after that, so maybe he was right about being upset.

This year, he had a plan to protect the food. “Everything that gets finished, move it to the dining room,” he said when he saw that Derek was putting together the pomegranate seed and wild rice salad Boyd liked. “That way if there’s a problem, the food is far away from any sprinklers.” 

“And you want it all covered, I know,” Derek said. He didn’t seem annoyed, just amused. “I saw the plastic table cloth you laid over the cloth one.” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I know.” Stiles held up his hands.

Derek was right. If Stiles would just relax and pretend it was any Tuesday or Friday night when they cooked together, things would be fine. Really, the only difference was the amount of food they were cooking (enough for eight werewolves, six humans, and two kitsunes), and the fact that the pack was upstairs.

Something soft and alive brushed against Stiles’s leg, startling him. 

“Jeeze,” he gasped, lifting his foot so he didn’t accidentally step on it. “I forgot your sisters brought the cats.”

The previous year, Derek had gotten Laura and Cora each a kitten from Deaton and Scott. They were overjoyed and they dotted on them.

They had brought them over, claiming that if Peter was allowed to be part of the pack, so were Marmalade and Shoe. 

“Which one is this?” he asked, stroking his socked foot over the cat’s back as it purred and arched. 

“That is Shoe.” Derek rolled his eyes; he wasn’t impressed with Cora’s choice of name. 

“Ah, right.” Stiles smiled when Shoe purred louder, rubbing her side up against his leg. 

If Shoe was the orange and white one, then Marmalade was obviously the one with the orange fur that had darker orange patches all over it. She was sitting on the coffee table observing them with disdain. She’d clearly learned from her mother. 

“Maybe we should get a cat,” Stiles mused while he wrapped the salad dish in tin foil. Shoe curled around his left leg affectionately before wandering away. 

“You want a cat?” Derek looked up.

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe. Do you?”

“What about a fish first?” he suggested. He moved on to scraping the sausage into a bowl, then dumped cream cheese on top of it to mix in. “Or something sturdier…”

“Cats are pretty sturdy.” Stiles jerked his shoulders. “That’s alright, I was just thinking.”

“If you want a cat-”

“We can babysit for Laura when she’s out or something. Plus, cat hair. I can live without it everywhere.” 

Derek shot him a skeptical look, but shrugged and continued mixing.

Stiles was about to suggest maybe a dog when shouting erupted upstairs again. He rolled his eyes toward Derek, who shook his head. 

He moved on to the potatoes, scowling when the shouting didn’t let up. He put his hands on his hips, glowering at the ceiling. “What’re they arguing about?” he demanded. 

Derek tipped his head. “Bears vs Packers. Sounds like Laura and Erica are arguing with Cora and Allison about their respective teams.” 

“Really?” Stiles was slightly intrigued. He’d never heard them mention watching games before, so the idea of them arguing over teams was odd. “I thought they just watched the Superbowl.”

Derek shrugged. “So did I.” 

“Weirdos,” Stiles said affectionately. “Do you need help?” 

“No, I got it.” Derek spread the dough for the base of the sausage casserole on the bottom of a baking pan with the delicacy of someone handling priceless glassware. 

It was so sweet and adorable Stiles thought he might choke on the emotions that welled up. “Der, I just really-”

Something over their heads crashed, followed by a loud shattering noise and Erica letting out a howl—it could have been rage or pain, Stiles couldn’t tell which.

They didn’t hesitate; they just dropped whatever they were holding and ran for the stairs. Stiles was already imagining a whole number of horrific things ranging from impalement to angry goblins. 

Upstairs in the bonus room—Stiles thought of it as renovated attic, really, attached to the second floor—the pack was still shouting, now in panic.

“I smell blood,” Derek said tersely, and bolted ahead of Stiles. “Oh, my god. What-”

Stiles burst in behind him, huffing and puffing. They had far too many stairs. 

Erica was sitting on the floor behind the entertainment center that had once held a television. Her face was a bloody, glass-riddled mess. 

“What _happened?_ ” Stiles demanded, and Cora burst into tears. 

Everyone tried explaining at once, so Derek helped Erica to her feet and led her to the bathroom in the hallway. 

“Stop! Just—wait while we get Erica’s face cleaned up. And-” he looked at the mess that had once been a TV. “Just stay here and calm down.” 

Derek had Erica up on the counter with a towel covering her front while he carefully picked glass shards out of her face. 

“What did the glass come from?” he asked, automatically taking her hand when she whimpered. 

“That big picture-frame collage thing that was on the wall above the TV,” Derek answered. “Big one, hold still.” He tightened his fingers around the shard stuck in her cheek. 

Erica’s fingers flexed around Stiles’s when Derek yanked the shard out, a whimper bubbling out of her throat. Blood rolled from the gash in globs until her skin started healing. 

After the big pieces, Derek had to use the tips of his claws to pick out all the small pieces before her skin could heal over it. 

“Ow,” she whined when he finally picked the last piece out of her forehead. 

“Wash your face,” Stiles advised. 

Derek had put all the glass in a hand towel, which he folded up carefully. “I’m putting this in the trash,” he said.

“Alright. Uh—damn.” Stiles’s heart sort of jumped. “Can you take the turkey out? I don’t want it to burn again.”

Derek frowned. “It’s probably not-”

“Der. Please?”

“Alright.”

Erica hopped down and leaned over the sink to wash her face, so Stiles got a towel out of the closet that she could use to dry off with.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, now. That hurt.” She kept rubbing her face until the water came away clear. “Ugh, now I have to redo my make-up.”

“You could have lost an _eye_ ,” Stiles pointed out. 

“And it ruined my make-up.” She took the towel he offered and wiped her face. 

“So, uh, what happened?”

Her damp cheeks flushed. “We—we were just, um…”

“It’s my fault!” Cora called out in a thick, tear-choked voice.

Erica sighed and swept out of the bathroom, bumping into a worried Boyd in the hall. 

Stiles went to the bonus room to survey the damage while the two of them kissed and murmured to each other in the hall. 

The TV was smashed and nearly in two pieces and the picture frame was destroyed, but hopefully the pictures would be salvageable. 

“Okay, seriously, what happened?”

“We were arguing about the game and got a little too into it and Cora shoved Erica, who tripped over the entertainment center and smashed the TV. It was an accident. Also, we’ll buy you guys a new TV.” Laura grimaced. 

“Are you okay, Erica?” Cora asked. She’d wiped her face but still looked blotchy. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

“We’ll clean up the mess,” Allison said. She looked really guilty. On her other side, Kira looked ready to cry, too. 

Stiles glanced at the wreckage, then away again before he could get irritated. Now that no one was bleeding, he was starting to feel a lecture about respecting personal property coming on and wanted to avoid it.

“I’ll be downstairs. Food should be done soon,” he muttered. 

“I’m sorry,” Kira gasped, her guilt finally bursting free. “I was arguing, too, and I think I—I’m sorry.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s—the food’s probably done,” he mumbled, waving over his shoulder. 

Except the food was not exactly done. Well, most of it was. A lot of it needed to be reheated. The turkey was technically cooked but had that sort of rubbery texture that came from being taken out just a tad too early. 

“If you say ‘I told you so’,” Stiles said in a low voice when Derek’s shoulders shook, “I will stick this fork in your hand.” 

Because he didn’t believe him—Stiles knew he wouldn’t actually stab Derek, fork or otherwise—Derek snickered. “I told you it wasn’t done.”

In the living room, something shattered, and the two cats came sprinting into the dining room at top speed. 

Laura and Cora winced in unison. “We’ll replace it,” Laura said quickly. 

Stiles put his head in his hands while Derek broke down laughing.  
 

 

**3—Squash the Urge**

Because he was on high alert, Stiles flinched every time the door opened, jumped a half foot in the air every time someone’s voice rose louder than a whisper, and started hissing like an angry goose every time anyone got too close to the kitchen. It was utterly ridiculous and he knew it, but he couldn’t _stop._

“Stiles,” Derek said pleadingly, “just let us help. Everyone will stay in the living room, I promise. There’s nothing breakable in the living room, Cora and Laura didn’t bring their cats…”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, waving the oven mitt he was holding threateningly. “Who is _us_?” he asked at last, because he couldn’t handle cooking everything on his own, as much as he’d have liked to. Next year, he was definitely pre-cooking everything the day before. 

“Isaac and me. That’s it, I promise.”

Stiles frowned over Derek’s shoulder, where Isaac was hovering hopefully. “Where’s Boyd?”

“He’s keeping Peter, Erica, and Cora in the living room and calm,” Derek said promptly. “Kira’s helping, too.”

Stiles’s face flushed with fury but before he could open his mouth, Isaac cut in- “They aren’t watching football! So she’s not going to cause any trouble.”

“Stiles, everything will be fine,” Derek tried, holding his hands out. 

“They _broke_ our TV last year!” Stiles snapped. “Because of a _football game._ I didn’t even know any of them _watched_ football!”

“I can assure you that was mostly Laura’s fault, and that’s why we made her buy a new one, remember?” Derek tried to smile. “You better get the rolls out of the oven.”

Stiles squawked and turned around to open the oven, nearly burning himself. 

“I think it was really Cora’s fault,” Isaac whispered from behind while they started moving around.

“Laura instigated it, she’s the only one who cares about football,” Derek mumbled back.

When Stiles turned back around, Derek and Isaac had infiltrated the kitchen and were putting things on counters, sliding things out of pans and into serving dishes, and generally being helpful little elves that Stiles did not trust. 

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “But if _one dish_ hits the floor, you’re both out of here.” 

“I got it.” Derek held out a hand for the salad dish Isaac was holding. He set it on the counter and started filling it with the salad Stiles had been working on.

“Be careful!” he snapped, seeing Isaac’s elbow almost knock a bowl off the counter. He snatched it and backed off, hugging it to his chest. It was for the cranberry sauce, which almost no one ate, but he was making it anyway because they were going to have a nice, _normal_ Thanksgiving, dammit. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, turning around. “Please. Just relax. Start making the mashed potatoes.” 

“I—alright, you’re right, this is stupid.” He took a deep breath and gave Isaac the bowl. “Sorry. Thank you for your help.” He went to the stove to check the boiling potatoes and took the pot off the eye, deeming them done. “Excuse me, I need the sink.” 

Isaac stepped to the side but kept his arm steady—he was chopping up celery for the two different kinds of stuffing, which Stiles should have gotten to about an hour ago but had gotten distracted by his biscuits and potatoes. And the turkey…

“Focus,” Derek murmured. “You’re doing fine. The turkey isn’t ready yet.”

“I know that.” But he guiltily opened the oven to check just in case. Derek was right. It didn’t need anything from him. He sighed and went back to his potatoes. 

For once, it seemed that Thanksgiving would be fine. 

Stiles was relaxing by the second, slowly letting Derek and Isaac have more responsibilities until they all had a pretty even workload. He had to admit, having help was more fun, too, especially when Derek cautiously turned the radio on and gave them music to cook to. 

The best part, however, was that as the pack trickled in, they knew before they got fully into the house not to approach the kitchen. They just slunk off to the living room to watch Pacific Rim with Scott and the others. 

After Stiles had the stuffing done and was sliding the pies into the oven, Laura came in. 

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t touch anything, I swear,” she said, edging past Stiles, who was glowering at her. 

“What do you need?” he asked through his teeth. “Anything in here you’d like to break?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Look, that was an accident, we apologized, and I bought you a new one. Can we let it go? I just need to grab Der’s charger because my phone is dead.” She gestured at the counter where Derek left his extra charger habitually. “I won’t go near the food.”

“Fine,” Stiles muttered.

She darted around him and snatched the charger, knocking something over with a little thump. “Fuck,” she muttered, swiping her hand over the counter. “It’s nothing, it was just an empty—it was nothing.” She bolted.

Stiles went to investigate, but whatever she’d spilled—if anything at all, admittedly she could have knocked over an empty cup—was long gone. 

It happened while Derek was taking the pies out. It had to happen, something _always_ had to happen.

Isaac was carefully setting the green bean casserole out to cool when his back went stiff. He started shaking his head slightly, making little sniffing noises with his nose that immediately put Stiles on guard. 

“Um, Stiles, I think-” he started, his face twisting.

“Pineapple!” Stiles yelped. 

The on-coming-sneeze expression dropped from Isaac’s face, replaced by one of blank confusion. “What? Why pineapple?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles said, still watching his face for signs of another sneeze. 

Derek let out an explosive sneeze, right into the pumpkin pie he’d been holding. He started to apologize and sneezed again. 

The sneeze had startled Isaac, who jostled the casserole off the counter, shattering the dish at their feet and spattering casserole all over the floor.

Then he sneezed, too, covering his face and bending over. He left the room with his arm over his face.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Derek in a measured tone.

“I-” another sneeze, even more violent; he dropped the pumpkin pie and grabbed the counter with one hand, accidentally dropping a salad bowl on his way.

“Please, god, go get a tissue,” Stiles finally moaned, covering his face. 

“Yep, already on it,” Derek managed, using one arm to cover his mouth. His eyes were watering as he sneezed. “ _Laura!_ ” he yelled as he passed, trying to use his foot to scoot most of the mess into a pile.

“It was an accident!” she shrieked. 

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s just a few dishes,” he mumbled. Glass tinkled from behind him when something else rolled off the counter. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Derek said from across the dining room—well away from the food. “Laura spilled pepper. Everyone in the living room is sneezing, too. It’s really-”

“It’s fine, Derek,” he said through his teeth. “I know it was an accident.”

He nodded and went to find more tissues, looking like a guilty, bloodshot puppy.

John arrived in time for dessert—his leftovers were on a wrapped plate in the fridge—and asked, brightly, “Is there any pumpkin pie left? It’s my favorite.”

Stiles pressed his lips together and set his cards down. “It was compromised,” he said stiffly. They were all sitting around the table playing Bullshit.

John’s brows furrowed. “What-?”

“Derek sneezed in it, then threw it on the floor,” Cora giggled. 

Stiles glowered at her. 

“Laura spilled pepper,” Derek sighed when John looked vaguely alarmed. “She spilled pepper and then swept it off the counter, and it sort of just…caused a sneezing fit in…all of the, um, more sensitive of the pack members.” 

“Ah.” John nodded slowly. “Everyone okay?” 

“Oh, we’re good now,” Scott said quickly. “And we have pecan pie left, and caramel.” He jumped to his feet and threw an arm around John’s shoulders. “Come on, try the caramel, it’s great and—the best part is that it has no snot or spit in it,” he laughed, ducking when Stiles threw Cora’s shoe at him.  
 

 

**4—Caramel Throwing Stars**

“I’m so glad you’ve got this year off,” Stiles blurted as he opened his front door Thanksgiving morning. 

Melissa smiled at him. “Me, too, sweetie. You’ve been having rotten luck with this holiday, huh, kiddo?” She had a few reusable grocery bags in her arms as she shuffled in. 

Stiles took a couple from her. “I know last year wasn’t a _horrific_ disaster,” he admitted slowly, still thinking about the shattered dishes and food spread around their feet. 

“But it was upsetting. I’ve got practice manning this holiday, and basically what you have to do is accept the fact that your family and friends will ruin something.” She hefted one bag after another onto the kitchen counters. “They don’t mean it, they all love and appreciate you, but once you accept the fact that they are all disasters, you can work around them. The turkey has mostly been the issue, so just keep the turkey in mind at all times.” She patted the stove top. “Turn the oven off if you’re worried about it burning, set a timer so you don’t take it out too early, and do _not_ keep opening the door.”

“Okay, got it.” He nodded seriously, yanking his phone out of his pocket to set a timer. “What’re we going to work on?”

Melissa smiled peacefully. “Everything.”

Derek emerged sometime later, offering to help and looking all damp and sleepy. 

“You, my friend, can deal with the door,” Melissa said, kissing his cheek in greeting and making him smile. 

“The…door?” He blinked, glancing over his shoulder.

“And Drax,” Stiles said brightly, just as their half-year old rescued pittie mix came gamboling out of their bedroom. 

Drax (she lived up to her namesake) was a holy terror on anything remotely breakable or anything that could fit in her mouth, but she loved them and slept in their room until they were both up and moving. They’d gotten her earlier in the year when she was barely more than a little ball of blue-gray fur.

“Right.” Derek grabbed Stiles around the waist and turned him so he could kiss him properly. “Good morning,” he murmured. 

“Hi. Good morning.” Stiles went back in for another kiss, laughing against his mouth when Drax shoved her head between them, demanding attention. “Good morning to you, too,” he said, petting her head and scratching her floppy ears. 

She shoved past both of them to bombard Melissa with happy little bumps until she bent to kiss her nose. 

“Take the baby out to the backyard,” Melissa cooed, straightening up.

“Thank you,” Stiles said, giving Derek a quick peck of appreciation.

“Mmm, you’re welcome.” 

“He’s so cute when he’s sleepy,” Stiles sighed, watching Derek and Drax shuffle out the backdoor together. 

“Start chopping, kiddo—after you wash those hands.”

“Oh, right.” 

With Melissa’s help, Stiles discovered just how quickly he could actually got stuff done. 

The doorbell rang while they were making a couple of different casseroles (metal or tin dishes only, no glass allowed).

“I got it,” Derek said, over the sound of Drax’s excited barking. 

“Thanks!” Stiles leaned back to see who it was.

Allison and Kira were holding a bundle of flowers as they came in. “Happy Thanksgiving!” Allison chirped. “We brought these for you.” She thrust the flowers at Derek and dropped to her knees, holding her arms out so Drax could smother her in love. “And these are for you,” she said, giving her a big turkey shaped cookie.

“Stiles,” Melissa said, tapping his shoulder. “You’re going to cut your finger.”

“Oops.”

Scott arrived next, with an enormous bone in hand.

“Where’d you get that, a mastodon?” Stiles demanded while Drax did excited circles around Scott’s legs. 

“Yep, I wrestled it in the yard and came out victorious.” He made a gesture at Drax, whose butt hit the floor so fast she skidded a little.

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned back to the carrots he was cutting up. “You’re all going to spoil her.” 

“We couldn’t,” Kira said. “Now let’s take her to the backyard.”

Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Cora arrived next. They called out greetings and went straight to the backyard to play with the others. 

Melissa nudged Stiles’s arm. “See?”

“Yeah, I see.” He blew out a breath and moved on to the next dish.

By the time Laura and Peter arrived, they were making desserts. Everyone had come back inside and it was noisy and chaotic, but Stiles found that if he just forgot about all the possible things they could break, he could focus just on the food and that was the best thing to do to avoid disaster. 

“I’m going to make a caramel pie,” Melissa said, grabbing a pot to fill with water. “Just don’t touch this.” She switched on an eye to use. 

“You got it.” Stiles was layering whipped cream on the pie he was working on, so he wasn’t inclined to mess with her side of the kitchen anyway.

“Drax has a sock!” Kira’s shout rose above the chaos.

Drax came flying through the kitchen, tail slashing through the air with joy. She had a long blue sock trapped in her jaws, her eyes bright and excited over it. She bolted around Stiles and took off down the hall. 

“Don’t!” Melissa yelped when he started to chase her. “I’ll go. Watch the food.”

“Right! Sorry, right. Don’t let her eat it,” he added weakly.

She shot him an exasperated look before chasing Drax, who was letting out happy growls while she dodged the reaching hands. 

“Drax!” Derek called with sudden inspiration. “Cookie!” 

There was a pause before the sound of four running feet broke like the gallop of a small horse down the hall to the living room.

The pack burst out laughing.

Stiles smiled, shaking his head and finishing off the pie he was working on.

“Hey, do you need any help?” Allison asked, stepping into the kitchen. “No sensitive nose, no marshmallows, no football,” she added, holding her hands up.

Stiles smiled and shook his head. “Actually, I think I’m good. Mel’s a big help, we’re practically done.”

“Ah. That’s great! Derek got the sock from Drax before she ate it, just so you know,” she said. 

Melissa returned looking flustered. “Why socks?” she asked. 

“She will eat anything if it smells good,” Stiles explained, turning to laugh at her expression. “She ate a wax cake once. That’s why we don’t have any out anymore.” 

“Socks?”

“They probably smell like her parents,” Allison said, smiling. “It’s actually-”

A loud, shocking _pop!_ interrupted her; something banged into the light on the ceiling, shattering it, before, with a sickening squish, it impaled itself in Allison’s upper left arm.

She blinked, stunned, at her arm as blood started to seep from it sluggishly under the thin piece of metal. 

Stiles was frozen in shock, but Melissa was not.

“Scott, go start one of the cars, whichever can get out easiest. Allison, don’t move.” She grabbed a dishtowel from the drawer and used it to tie above the thing stuck in Allison’s arm. “Stiles, turn off the stove and oven,” she ordered. “Allison, come with me. Hold your arm still.”

“What is it?” Allison asked tightly, letting Melissa lead her carefully through the room. 

“The—the top of the can of condensed milk I was boiling,” Melissa admitted. “I forgot to put a hole in the top.”

Allison nodded, swallowing thickly.

They all went to the hospital, no question. They packed into the waiting room with people suffering burns and in one case a broken nose while Melissa took Allison back quickly.

Laura contacted Chris.

Stiles sat with Derek. “There’s blood and glass on the kitchen floor,” he said, straightening. “Is-?”

“I put Drax in our room before we left.” He kissed the side of Stiles’s head and took his hand. 

“I hope she’s okay,” Stiles said. “Allison, I mean,” he added when the pack collectively turned to look at him like he was crazy. “I hope it didn't sever-”

“Okay, no. No talking about anything being severed,” Laura said firmly, putting her phone down on the table beside Stiles. “It’s going to be fine.” She ruffled Derek’s hair and tugged Stiles’s ear and playfully before weaving her way through the waiting room to comfort the rest of the pack.

Stiles used Derek’s phone to let John know what was going on and where everyone was. Then he leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder and sighed quietly.

Allison needed forty-six stitches. “You know, it’s easy to say it’s just a flesh wound when it’s not your flesh,” she complained at the nurse who was wheeling her out.

Chris and Melissa were walking on either side of her wheelchair, looking relieved. 

Derek pressed his face against the back of Stiles’s neck and laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” Stiles demanded, unable to tear his gaze away from the bandage secured around her arm.

“She’s high on pain meds,” Cora said, giggling.

“And I’ve got a prescription for mooooore,” Allison sang, waving the paper around. “Dad, are you gonna cut my food up for me? I don’t wanna.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, frowning down at her. 

He totally picked up the _kiddo_ thing from prolonged exposure to John.

Allison smiled the wide, glazed smile of someone high off their ass. “Okay. Thanks. I’m starving.” 

“Well, everything should be done, but we’re not going to have any caramel pie,” Melissa said dryly. 

Allison broke out in frantic giggles, which spread to the rest of the pack.  

 

**5—Wild Thing**

Stiles woke up on November 24th with one goal in mind: the perfect Thanksgiving, with no disasters, no injuries (Allison still had the scar from the caramel incident), and no tears (mostly Stiles’s own tears). He had a game plan, too: he was going to do everything himself, and _no one_ was allowed in the house. 

“You up?” Derek grunted, rolling over and flinging an arm around Stiles’s waist. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta get cooking,” he said, slithering out from under Derek’s arm.

It was cute, when Derek sat up, blinking and disheveled. “Huh?”

“I told you last night,” Stiles said in an edgy voice. “Melissa’s got the turkey at her house cooking, that way nothing happens to it. Everything else, I’m cooking here.”

“The ham?” Derek murmured, rubbing his face. 

“The ham is in the fridge, it just needs to be heated up.” Stiles pointed at him. “Do you remember your job?” he asked sharply.

“I am to keep everyone out and occupied,” Derek recited. He blinked slowly, his eyes still hazy. “But why does it have to be at six am?” 

“Derek, do you realize how much I have to cook?” Stiles demanded. 

“I realize you’re getting yourself all worked up over a holiday…again,” Derek said slowly. “Possibly forgetting the theme of it…” 

From her bed in the corner, Drax’s ears perked up and she made a soft huffing noise.

“I would be so thankful if you and everyone else stayed out while I finished cooking. I’ll be _thankful_ if I can just get _one_ Thanksgiving right.”

Derek reached out and tugged him closer to the bed, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his face against his stomach.

Stiles stroked his hair and hugged him back, but when he felt a light, teasing nip of teeth near his hip, he jerked away. “No, no, you are not distracting me. Get dressed. You’re taking everyone out for the day.” 

“And where exactly am I taking them?” he asked, rolling off the bed. 

“Take them out to breakfast. Then a movie. And maybe the park. Just keep them away from here until I text you.”

When Derek grumbled, Stiles turned, biting his lips.

“I just want one Thanksgiving that isn’t a total disaster.” He sighed deeply. “I would really appreciate it if you did this for me, but I understand if you think I’m being ridiculous.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and kissed Stiles hard on the mouth. “Manipulative little shit. I already said I would do it.” He walked to the closet. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said sincerely, which made Derek pause and glance back at him.

“Stiles, why-” He broke off and shook his head. “Never mind. You’re welcome. I’ll keep everyone busy for as long as I can.” 

“Thanks.” He stepped aside so Derek could get his clothes and went to brush his teeth, figuring he could stay in his pajamas while he cooked.

Derek kissed his cheek as he passed for the shower.

Since Melissa, Chris, Ken, Noshiko, Peter, and John were rarely the problem (and since most of them worked during the day anyway), Stiles didn’t bother waking them up.

He sent out a series of texts to everyone else, probably pissing them off at the same time it woke them up, while Derek was showering. He ignored the various text-tones coming from his phone that signaled their responses. He had an inkling of what they had said and didn’t mind as long as everyone was awake. 

Awake and away from his house.

“When do you want us to head back?” Derek asked, grabbing an apple off the counter. His hair was still a little damp.

Drax was on his heels, her tongue lolling out when she spotted Stiles.

“I’ll text you to let you know.”

“What about the turkey?” he asked warily.

“Mel is keeping an eye on it for me. I’ll get someone to pick it up when I need it.” 

“Alright. Hey.” He caught Stiles by the waist and turned him, leaning in to give him a kiss that tasted like their shared toothpaste. “I love you.”

Stiles smiled. “I love you, too.” He pressed his palms against Derek’s cheeks and kissed him again. “Thank you.”

“And thank you,” he replied, startling him. “For going through the trouble of cooking for an ungrateful group of heathens when we could all be stuck eating reheated pizza.”

“It is nice to be appreciated,” Stiles acknowledged. He pecked Derek’s mouth one more time and said, “Keep your sisters out of our house.” 

Derek was laughing on his way out, which made Stiles smile. 

Once the door closed behind him, he hooked his phone up to the speakers they kept in the kitchen for some music, washed his hands, and got to work.

He found an agreeable rhythm right away. It turned out that when there was no one else in the house to worry about or get in his way, cooking was quite easy and enjoyable. Drax didn’t count, as she mostly watched him from under the dining table, hoping for scraps but knowing she probably wasn’t going to get any.

He was finishing everything up close to eleven, so he grabbed his phone and cleared away the responses from that morning and opened Erica’s thread.

He ignored the string of curses and emojis and texted her, ‘ _Can you pick up turkey from Mel’s house and bring it here for me?_ ’

When he saw that she’d read it, he switched to Derek’s thread. ‘ _Love of my life, you can bring everyone over._ ’

Derek replied that he was on his way.

Erica said ‘ _Okey doke boss :)_ ’ which made Stiles slightly nervous, but he figured that Derek or Scott had probably told them not to stress Stiles out this year or something.

‘ _Thank you._ ’

He was still nervous when Derek and the rest of the pack arrived—sans Erica and Cora, who had gone with to help her—so he sort of hovered while they set the table.

“The older set will be here later,” Allison said with a smile. “Kira’s parents are coming with my dad, and Peter’s getting a ride from John and Mel.” 

“Cool. Thank you.” He rubbed his face. “Sorry for freaking everyone out,” he mumbled. 

Laura flung her arm around his shoulders from behind. “We don’t mind. We got to spend _all_ morning with Derek trying to keep us entertained so we didn’t ask to come over.” She kissed his cheek. “I know why you’re so obsessed with this holiday and I think you’re sweet and adorable.” She tugged on his ear and bolted away, calling out for Boyd to help her put the ham on the table. 

“What did she mean?” Kira asked brightly, cradling a casserole in her arms. 

“She means that Stiles knows that Thanksgiving is largely a family holiday and he is determined to give that to Derek because he’s a sentimental slob,” Allison said, squeezing Stiles from the side.

“I will deny that until my last breath. I just want you brats to stop ruining all my hard work,” he muttered, his face flushing. He crouched down to scrub his hands over Drax’s back, set her wriggling with excitement.

The girls ignored his protests and practically pinched his cheeks, cooing about how cute he was. 

He scowled and pressed his face into Drax’s fur, turning his head to check on the kitchen. 

Derek was leaning against a counter, smiling at him.

“Stop with the face,” Stiles grumbled, getting up and marching to the fridge. “Who wants a beer? I think I need a beer.”

“We’re having wine with the meal,” Allison said sharply. “Lydia sent over a couple of nice bottles before she and Jackson left for Paris, we should drink them.”

Stiles sighed. “Where is Erica?” he muttered, yanking his phone out of his pocket.

“Erica and Cora just pulled up!” Laura called out. “They have—they—uh.” 

Stiles’s heart lurched in his chest, but before he could start freaking out, Derek’s hands dropped on his shoulders from behind, squeezing.

“Deep breath.”

Drax licked his hand worriedly.

“I’m breathing,” he said through his teeth.

“Deep breath,” Derek repeated. 

He obeyed, inhaling for eight seconds, slowly, and then letting it out. “Laura,” he called, “what do they have?”

“Turkey,” Laura said tersely. 

The tone could have been laughter or nerves, but he couldn’t tell which. 

Boyd and Kira looked at each other, then went to the foyer to check it out, followed by Isaac and Allison. 

Scott glanced at Stiles worriedly, his brows pinching together. “Derek, maybe you should take Stiles-”

The front door swung open. 

“We’re _here_ ,” Erica trilled, marching through the door.

For a moment, Stiles couldn’t see what was wrong, because the rest of the pack had crowded around her so closely. 

After that moment, it didn’t matter, because he could _hear_ it. 

The faintest gobble of fear. 

Erica and Cora had brought a live turkey into his house. In a cage. 

“We got turkey!” Cora called out, sweeping her arm out to present the rather large bird. 

Stiles made a strangled noise of rage and distress. Drax crept forward to check it out.

Derek’s hands flexed on his shoulders. “I am…so sorry,” he breathed. “I’ll make them get rid of it,” he promised. “Just—stay right here. It’s fine.” He jerked his head at Scott, who approached Stiles with his hands out.

“They’re just kidding, Stiles, they didn’t mean anything by it,” he said cautiously.

“Right. It’s fine,” he agreed in a weirdly detached voice. “As long as the real, cooked turkey is in the car, I’m completely fine.”

Scott looked at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Kind of funny, actually,” he admitted, the tightness in his chest loosening enough that he could laugh a little. “Like I said, if they have the real turkey, this is funny.” He held his hands up. 

Scott nodded, a smile breaking over his face. “That’s good! See, I told you nothing-”

Cora yelped suddenly; something thumped, and the house filled with enraged gobbling and the noise of feathers flapping. Drax let out a terrified yip and streaked past.

Stiles stepped around Scott to see the turkey chasing Cora and the rest away from the door, wings out spread. 

“You’re _kidding me._ It’s a turkey!” he snapped. “You’re _werewolves!_ ”

Derek nodded, brows furrowing, and spread his arms, darting at the turkey, which apparently had no fear and pecked at his face, squawking angrily. 

Derek jerked back, hitting the floor and scrambling back when the turkey rushed him in a whirl of feathers and snood. 

Laura yanked him to his feet and stepped forward, baring her teeth at the bird, snarling. She nearly lost an eye when the turkey lunged forward. She shrieked and jumped back, knocking into Boyd and Kira. 

“Oh my god.” 

Stiles and Scott rushed at the turkey together, trying to scare it back into the kennel Cora and Erica had brought it in.

The turkey made a loud, threatening noise, tail feathers flaring out, wings flapping loudly, and Stiles jerked back instinctively. Scott scrambled back, too, one hand grabbing Stiles’s arm to yank him back, further. 

The pack went around to the other side of the kitchen, coming up behind Stiles and Scott. 

“Maybe if we all rush it at once?” Boyd suggested. 

“Yeah, but whoever goes in front is going to get pecked,” Allison pointed out. 

“Werewolves up front,” Derek said, stepping forward bravely. At least, it was brave, until the turkey flared its feathers again and made him flinch. 

Ten minutes later, the entire pack was locked in Derek and Stiles’s bedroom while the turkey had the run of the house, but apparently kept pacing outside the bedroom door, making quiet noises as it kept guard. 

“We are being kept hostage by a _bird_ ,” Stiles pointed out. 

“A very large, violent bird.” 

The werewolves of the pack were still healing cuts on their hands and arms. 

Stiles pressed his face into his knees. “It’s still a bird. Move, move, I’m going to go corral it into the kennel.” 

“Stiles, don’t,” Cora said, reaching for his arm. “It hurt us, it’s not going to be afraid of you.” 

“We’re _stuck_ , the turkey is…in the car?” he asked, glancing at Erica, who nodded. “The turkey is in the car getting cold, all the food is sitting on the table, and we are just sitting here.” He shook Cora off and stepped around Isaac, yanking the door open.

The flap of wings and angry gobbling noise had Isaac trying to slam the door shut, but he wasn’t fast enough; Stiles drew his bleeding hand back in with a scowl.

“Stiles,” Erica said hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” he said in a flat voice. “Just…it’s fine.” 

She looked like a kicked puppy, and Cora’s eyes were tearing up.

Stiles inhaled deeply. “It’s fine. Seriously. Maybe Peter can come get it or something. Or Chris…” He looked hopefully at Allison.

She grimaced. “I can call him and try to get some help?” 

“Please.” Stiles covered his face. 

He felt Derek wrap his arms around him, leading him through the room and toward the bed. 

“Why don’t you sit down while we wait for the cavalry? It’s not a big deal,” he added very quietly. “All we need is for Chris to get here and get the thing back in that cage.”

“Or he could kill it,” Laura offered darkly.

“Um, no he can’t,” Erica snapped. “I borrowed it, I have to return it.”

“Oh my god. Did you kidnap someone’s pet and let it terrorize us?”

“I didn’t _steal_ it! I asked for the chance to borrow it.”

“So call the owner?” Stiles suggested. He let Derek push him down on the bed. He bunched his hands in the comforter.

“I can’t. I didn’t get his number,” Erica admitted, grimacing. “I thought I could scare you with the turkey, put it back in the car, give you the real one, and take it right back before anything happened.” She jerked her chin at Cora. “Spazzy McSpazzatron over there let it out.”

“I didn’t mean it!” Cora snapped. “I was trying to fix the door.” 

“Just relax. It’s fine. Someone’s going to come and get the bird back in the kennel.” 

“Hey, Dad,” Allison said into her phone, stepping away from the group.

Cora and Laura moved into Derek and Stiles’s closet. “Oh, wow, Der. I can’t even _guess_ which side is yours,” Laura said dryly, gesturing at the various shades of _dark_ on one half of the closet. 

“Where’s Drax?” Kira asked, frowning. “She’s not still out there with the turkey, is she?”

“No,” Stiles sighed. He stood up. “She’s hiding, the bird probably scared her.” 

“Dad’s on his way—he’s gonna get Peter and John, too,” Allison said with a grimace. 

Stiles nodded and stepped around Isaac’s legs to get to the bathroom.

Drax was laying in the bathtub, her nose by the drain, tail tucked under her belly. 

“The bird isn’t going to get you,” he said soothingly.

She sat up, looking at him pitifully. 

He climbed into the tub with her; she scrambled right into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder and whining quietly. 

“I know, that big, mean bird bullied you, huh?” He stroked his hand down her back.

Derek came in, sitting at the edge of the tub. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “I can go try to get the bird again, if you want.”

Stiles laughed a little, pressing his chin against Drax’s shoulder, making her tail thump. “No, it’s alright. My dad will probably bring animal control or at least some equipment to help get the bird into the cage.” 

“Is your hand still bleeding?” he asked carefully. 

“I don’t think so.” He held it out anyway, let Derek carefully prod and massage it. 

“You’ll probably live, but we should put some antiseptic on it.” 

“Alright.” 

He got up and went to get the first aid kit from under the sink, sighing when he had to shove aside various weapons and emergency packs Stiles had stored there. 

It wasn’t paranoia, it was preparedness. 

“I can’t believe,” Stiles said, and made Derek shake his head, “that Erica went and found a live _turkey_ just to mess with me.”

“She was just trying to make you laugh,” Derek said warily.

“I know. It’ll be funny when we are no longer trapped in the bedroom.” 

Drax suddenly jerked and leaped out of the tub, barking like crazy and running through the room.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, getting up.

“Isaac tried opening the door, the turkey tried coming in.” Derek went to look into the bedroom. “Did she get pecked?”

“No, but she crawled under the bed,” Scott called in a muffled voice. 

Derek snorted. “She’s so brave,” he said wryly, turning back to Stiles. “Give me your hand.” 

“This is the weirdest year yet,” Stiles decided. “I think I don’t care what happens next year,” he sighed. He sat on the edge of the tub while Derek sat on the toilet lid so he could doctor Stiles’s cut. 

Derek frowned at him. “What?”

“Maybe we’ll go out to eat for Thanksgiving instead.” He rested his chin in his uninjured hand, frowning. “As long as we’re all together, it doesn’t really matter.” 

“Right,” Derek murmured. He wasn’t looking at Stiles, but his shoulders looked sort of droopy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing. Your hand is fine.” 

“That didn’t even sting,” Stiles commented.

Derek flashed him a guilty smile and got up. “I hear a car pulling up.”

The cavalry arrived almost an hour later. It only took John, Chris, and Peter a few minutes and plenty of pecks to get the bird into the kennel it had come in. John had borrowed a large net from animal control, but he’d still suffered a few cuts on his hands and arm, same as Chris and probably Peter, but of course his had healed by the time they emerged from the bedroom.

Drax shot toward John, pressing her face behind his knees and growling at the turkey, which gobbled threateningly and had her cowering. 

“An entire pack plus a pitbull and you were all stuck in the bedroom because of the turkey?” Peter asked dryly. “Laura.” He shook his head. 

She scowled at him. “It’s a big bird!” she protested.

“It’s a _bird_.” 

“Everyone get to setting the table!” Stiles ordered. He rounded on Erica and Cora. “Except you two. You can bring the turkey inside to be warmed up and then take that—that beast back to where you got it.”

“Yep, got it,” Erica said quickly, grabbing her keys from the entry table. 

The way she and Cora moved reminded Stiles of the way Drax crept along when she was feeling guilty for eating something she knew she shouldn’t have. 

It was an accurate enough description. 

“There are feathers everywhere,” Scott announced. “I’ll get the broom.”

Stiles snorted, finally feeling a tickle of amusement; when Derek glanced at him, brows raised, he started laughing for real, until he needed Derek’s help to stand up straight.

“Seven werewolves, one kitsune, two humans, and one dog against a turkey and _we lost._ ” He wiped his face, still hiccupping out laughter.  
 

 

**+1**

Stiles woke with a jolt, trying to figure out what’d woken him up. 

Drax was laying on him, her tail thumping slow and steady against his legs. 

“What? Hmm?” He rubbed her head. 

She snorted and turned her head. There was a note pinned to her collar.

_Good morning. Happy Thanksgiving. Erica and Laura are coming by to take you Christmas shopping today. –Derek_

“Hmm. Where’s Daddy?” he whispered. 

Drax started vibrating with excitement, so when he repeated himself she bolted off the bed and started doing excited laps around the room.

Stiles laughed and rolled off the bed. 

Once he’d showered and brushed his teeth, he left the bedroom and Drax darted to the kitchen, where coffee was brewing.

“Good morning!” Derek called from the garage. “Hold on, I’m coming.”

Stiles filled Drax’s food bowl while he waited. “What were you doing in the garage?” he asked.

“Just looking for spare paper towels.” He kissed Stiles as he walked in.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” Derek asked, stepping back.

Stiles plucked at his shirt, looking away guiltily. “For understanding about having Thanksgiving at Mel’s house this year.”

Derek laughed a little. “It’s no big deal. I get it, and this is probably better anyway. I like you better when you aren’t stressed over a turkey.”

Stiles grimaced, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that,” he muttered. 

“It’s alright,” Derek said firmly. “You just wanted a disaster-free holiday.”

Stiles smiled awkwardly. “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “So! What’re you going to do while I go with Laura and Erica?”

“Probably clean the house, maybe mow the lawn, take the destroyer on a W-A-L-K.” He shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”

Stiles nodded. 

Derek did his Christmas shopping online. Stiles would’ve made fun of him for it more if he didn’t always manage to find the perfect gift for each person.

“Feels weird,” Stiles admitted at last. “Not cooking or having everyone over.”

Derek smiled. “Yeah. Seems quiet.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed in a rush. “By now we’d be trying to keep me from climbing the walls while Cora and Boyd argued about the rules of Uno or something.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

They had a cup of coffee together while they waited for Erica and Laura to show up; Stiles kept suffering small bursts of embarrassment over his failures in previous years, followed by resignation—he was just destined to be bad at Thanksgiving. It was stupid, since Derek was clearly not bothered that they weren’t having a family celebration in his house, but…Well, it didn’t matter. Too bad for any possible future kids, anyway. 

He glanced up at Derek quickly, his heart tripping as if he’d said it out loud. They were fine as things were, living together, enjoying each other. No reason to try to rush things. 

“What’s up?” Derek asked, rinsing his mug out.

“Just trying to decide what to get for everyone,” he sighed, straightening up from the slouch he’d adopted at the island.

Drax nudged her head against his hip, demanding attention.

 _Ah, well,_ he thought as he bent to kiss her muzzle, _at least we have Drax._ He felt bad for the thought, as if she was just a stand-in, so he got her a cookie out of her treat jar to make up for it.

“They just pulled up.” Derek leaned in to kiss him. “Have fun.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Derek snorted. “I know what stores look like on Thanksgiving. I’ll be fine.”

Stiles chuckled. “Right. See you later.”

“Take your time!”

Erica was in the driver’s seat and Laura was holding a to-go cup of hot chocolate out the passenger window. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Erica greeted. 

“Thanks,” he said as he accepted the cup. “Hi.” He got in the backseat, shivering a little. “Okay, why does Derek want me out of the house?” he asked.

“Buckle in,” Erica ordered. 

Laura turned her head. “He just doesn’t want you at home moping and feeling guilty, so we’re taking you out shopping.” She grinned at him. “And to a movie.”

“And more shopping!” Erica added. “Probably.”

“Terrific,” he muttered. “Well, lead on.”

“Stiles, you know we appreciated you cooking and having us over every year, despite us making a mess or…something every time.” 

“Oh, god, that just makes me feel worse,” he groaned, pressing his free hand to his face. “I feel like a quitter now.” 

“Stiles. You did Thanksgiving five years in a row! You got dinner cooked and fed us last year despite the wild turkey.”

Erica shot a finger into the air. “That turkey was _not wild_ , it was a pet.”

“It was highly aggressive,” Laura shot back. “We were locked in a bedroom for an hour.”

“He was scared,” Erica insisted. 

“He tried to peck Drax!”

Erica grimaced. 

Stiles sighed. “Well, at least this year it won’t be terrible.” He took a drink of his hot chocolate. It did make him feel a little better. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh, helping Melissa,” Laura said lightly. “Well, hanging out where the food will be. They mean well, but all of them together—not exactly helpful.” 

“Hey!” Stiles protested, mostly on principle. “We’re pretty good together dealing with anything else.”

“True. The pack deals with invasive pixies very well when they’re together,” Laura conceded, snickering when he rolled his eyes. 

 

Halfway to the mall, Stiles asked, “Should I just take July 4th?”

Erica asked, “Huh?”

“I mean, I want to have everyone over, I like it, but Thanksgiving clearly wasn’t working for me.” 

“Uhh…4th of July…hmm. Well, the barbeque you guys had this year was fun,” Laura said thoughtfully.

“True,” Erica agreed quickly. “And you guys have the yard space and the deck furniture that’s good for summer.” 

“Yeah, we do.” Stiles grimaced. “Of course, now that I’ve said that, I probably jinxed it. Next year it’ll be a house fire.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Erica snapped, looking away from the road long enough to glance worriedly at Laura.

“She’s right,” she said simply. “They were all freak accidents-”

“ _Five years in a row._ ” 

“Last year wasn’t a freak accident,” she reminded him. “It was a joke gone wrong.” 

“The sneezing-”

“Was my fault,” she said firmly. “I’ve apologized for it multiple times.”

“We’re here!” Erica said, sliding into a parking space just as a minivan pulled out.

Stiles pressed himself back against the seat, eyes closed, as she did, sure they were going to slam into the van.

“Come on, scaredy cat,” Laura said, opening his door.

“Hey, my bones don’t heal like yours,” he muttered.

She hooked her arm around his neck. “I forget sometimes. You smell like Der and Draxy all the time.” 

“Wet dog and apricot shower gel?” Stiles asked dryly. 

She tugged his ear. “No, nerd, just a little bit like us.” Her eyes lit up red briefly to clue him in.

Erica rubbed her hands together. “I’m getting Melissa a date night outfit. She deserves it but she won’t buy it for herself.”

“No leather body suits!” Laura called as Erica took off for the doors. “We have to stop her. Mel would laugh till she cried if Erica tried to get her into one of those things. I blame Derek for their love of leather,” she grumbled. 

Shopping while everyone was frantically trying to hit the early sales should have been terrible, but the incredible energy was actually pretty awesome.

Sure, people were rude and frantic, the employees looked harried and abused, and Stiles was overwhelmed trying to find gifts, but it was fun, too, in a way.

Erica shopped like she was hunting prey and it was clear where she’d learned it: Laura was even worse. 

They moved like predators, something just a tiny bit wild in their movements and that was enough for them to carve out their own little personal bubble among the other shoppers. The humans around them were instinctively avoiding them, apparently not even noticing.

“Okay, see? It’s adorable,” Erica decided of the blouse and capri leggings she wanted to get for Melissa. “Just some cute shoes and she’ll be set.” 

“I’ll get the shoes,” Laura said after checking the price tags on the clothes. “We can give them to her together.”

So they went to the shoe department. After they found shoes, Laura wanted to get a dress for Cora, a necklace for Kira, and a bracelet for Allison, so Stiles held a place for them in line, holding their things.

He texted Derek while he waited, asking how he was doing.

_All good how bout you_

Stiles frowned. _You okay?_ It was unusual for him to skip any punctuation marks.

_Yeah just taking Drax for a walk so it’s hard to type_

_Ah. Alright. Love you._

_< 3_

After the mall, they went to the theater, which Stiles thought was overkill—they could have gone to Melissa’s house to hang out with everyone else, but Laura insisted. 

There were only a few other people there, so there was no line for the concessions, which was good because Stiles was starving.

“Do you-” Erica stopped when he came back. “Oooh, butter.” She grabbed a handful of the popcorn he was carrying.

“Let’s go get seats,” Laura said, jumping up. “Thanks for the popcorn, Stiles,” she added.

“No problem. I’m so hungry.”

“Good.”

“What movie are we seeing?” he asked, since the girls had bought the tickets.

Laura smiled widely. “It’s a local film,” she purred.

“Cool.” He had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t really care enough to ask, since they were about to watch it.

“ _Local film_ ” was apparently slang for “mind-numbingly boring movie about local, small-time business man who’d become rich in five very detailed years”. 

Stiles had no idea what his name was or what field of business he was in by the end.

“Come on, or I’ll carry you,” Laura snickered.

“Why—why did you make me watch that?” he asked, stumbling a little in the dark. He was halfway to sleeping already. 

Outside, the sun and cold sort of helped rouse him, but once they were in the car, it took him approximately five seconds to pass out to the sound of Erica making a phone call.

“Stiles,” Laura cooed, poking his cheek. “Stiles, wake up,” she sang.

“What?” he mumbled, straightening up in his seat. “Huh? Home?” He looked around and recognized his neighborhood. 

“Yep.”

“Not Mel’s?” He rubbed his face. He felt like a disoriented toddler.

“Oh, no,” Laura said with a slow smile. “No, you can ride with Derek. We’ve gotta go get Cora.” 

He looked out the window for a second and spotted a reflection. “Is that Scott’s car?” he mumbled, turning his head to look across the street.

“Nope,” Laura said firmly. “Scott’s at his mom’s house, remember? Go on inside. See you in about an hour!”

“Alright. Bye,” he said, climbing carefully out of the car. He yawned and shook his head, standing in the yard for a moment to get his bearings. He had no idea why he’d slept so hard but he felt like he’d been sleeping for about a decade. 

He walked up the front steps and opened the door, bracing for Drax’s excited jumping.

Before he’d even fully stepped inside, he could smell burned bread, could hear Drax’s playful growling and he saw a thin sheen of smoke throughout the house, despite the opened windows. 

He left the door open at his back and rushed to the kitchen. 

Derek was standing over a metal pan that had clearly once held a casserole, and was trying to yank a ham from Drax’s jaws. The kitchen was a disaster area; dirty mixing bowls littered the counters, there was some sort of sauce on the walls, and there was a pan of badly burned rolls on the stove, which was still on.

Stiles lunged and switched it off. “What,” he began loudly, “is going on?”

Drax released the ham in response to his tone, slinking away as quickly as she could manage.

Derek turned around with a grimace. “So, um.” He was flushed bright red and looked guilty. “So everyone came over to help make you a perfect Thanksgiving dinner but they are definitely no help.” He cringed. “There’s backup food at Mel’s, though.”

Stiles looked at the mess. “Why-?”

“Because this infernal holiday is important to you for some reason and I just wanted to make it perfect for you because I love you.” His hair was standing in sweaty tufts, his shirt was stained with whatever he’d gotten all over the walls, and he looked very defeated—the expression sort of broke Stiles’s heart.

“Derek-”

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurted quickly. “I just wanted at least one special Thanksgiving for you since you’re always trying so hard for one.”

“For _you_.”

Derek hesitated. “What?”

“Not for me. I wanted to have a perfect Thanksgiving for you, so you could have your family and friends around on a family-centric holiday because I thought you would want that, you know, those kind of memories in our home.” He felt his face flushing the longer Derek just stared at him.

“Oh,” he said at last, and smiled. “I’ve always thought they were great, personally.”

“What,” Stiles said flatly.

“They were memorable, anyway, in a sort of a good way. Except the year of the caramel,” he added quickly.

Stiles winced at the memory. “Yeah.” He laughed a little. “You liked all of those other horrible disasters?”

Derek shrugged. “Yes. It—it reminded me of Thanksgiving when I was a kid. There were so many people in the house, disaster was bound to strike. It was nice,” he said quietly. “A nice reminder.”

“I see.” Stiles looked around. “All this was for me?” he asked, still a little confused. 

Derek’s face reddened further. “Well.” He sighed and used his foot to slide the dropped pan out of his way as he approached Stiles. “I was hoping to have everything set up just right but I guess this is more of our usual tradition anyway.” He knelt down on the floor.

Stiles’s heart lurched almost painfully. “Are you joking?” he asked weakly.

“Nope.” He pulled a little ring box out of his pocket. “Will you marry me, Stiles?”

“You have mashed potato in your hair,” Stiles sniffled and threw himself at Derek. “Yes, I will,” he added, pressing kisses all over Derek’s face.

“Perfect,” Derek murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these disasters happened at some point or another to someone I know or to my family, but they've been exaggerated for entertainment, lol. Holidays, man. They are made for disasters.
> 
>  
> 
> **As it's two in the morning, I will fix any typos sometime tomorrow when I'm dodging family members who want to talk about politics. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!!**


End file.
